A Very Merry X-MAS
by Max Neverland
Summary: NOTE: Post X-Men Apocalypse. A soft blanket of snow covered the mansion. Fairy lights were draped across the rooftops and twined through many of the surrounding trees. Intricately designed icicles crept across the window panes and numerous snowmen stood in the grounds, some crudely crafted while others were beautifully sculpted...


**A VERY MERRY X-MAS**

A soft blanket of snow covered the mansion. Fairy lights were draped across the rooftops and twined through many of the surrounding trees. Intricately designed icicles crept across the window panes and numerous snowmen stood in the grounds, some crudely crafted while others were beautifully sculpted. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting a magical silver glow over it all.

It was Christmas Eve and a handful of the students were spending the holiday at the school. They were all convened in the main living area under a strict ugly sweater dress code. A Christmas tree towered in a corner of the room, its branches groaning under the weight of decorations and its base hidden behind a huge pile of gifts. Three long brown sofas were shoved back against the walls to create an open space in the middle of the room. The heavy wooden coffee table had been moved to one side, its top covered with a neat white cloth and its lower shelf stacked with plates and glasses.

The party was in full swing. Hank and Kurt were hanging off the chandelier, dancing upside-down to the music Jubilee was blasting through the speakers; their movements shook the chandelier so that its diamond droplets bounced light around the room like a disco ball. Jean had just stolen a kiss under the mistletoe from Scott, who was looking very red faced and flustered. Storm and Peter were bringing armfuls of snacks and sodas from the kitchen to spread out on the table. Raven and Moira lounged on a sofa, laughing together over a bottle of wine.

Moira caught a glimpse of the Professor moving quietly past the festivities, his wheelchair rolling noiselessly over the soft carpet. He was bundled up in a heavy winter coat with a black woollen hat pulled down low over his shaven head. Moira excused herself from Raven and slipped away; she caught up to Charles as he reached the elevator doors.

"Ah, Moira," said Charles, sensing her and stopping to swing his wheelchair around to greet her. "I didn't want to disturb you. I know how much you needed to enjoy yourself after your visit to Muir Island today."

"It's getting harder every year," replied Moira heavily.

"You're doing what's best for Kevin," said Charles gently, taking her hand. "You're doing the right thing, remember that."

Moira gave Charles a faint smile and then gestured to the wrapped parcel sitting in his lap.

"You're going, then?"

"I'll try not to wake you when I come back. Terrible sweater, by the way," he added, gesturing to the huge knitted cat head dangling off the centre of her bright yellow sweater.

"It's great, isn't it?" said Moira with a laugh. "The kids have picked one out for you to wear tomorrow and I just _know_ you'll love it."

Charles' face twisted into a half grimace, half smile. Moira laughed again and bent down to place a kiss on his mouth; for a moment, her dark hair fell like a curtain around their faces and he was enveloped by the light floral scent of her perfume. She broke away too soon and returned to the living area. Tearing his eyes from her retreating figure, Charles spun his wheelchair back around and pulled a small skid as he swung between the open elevator doors. The doors slid shut and the elevator shot down.

Automatic lighting flicked on as Charles rolled out of the elevator and down the corridor to the hangar. The mansion's usual dark wood panelling and cream carpet was replaced with smooth grey metal walls and floors in these lower levels. A wide pair of doors at the end of the corridor slid open to let him pass. Beyond, the sleek black X-Copter was waiting, its ramp already lowered; Hank had prepped the chopper earlier that day.

Once he had boarded the chopper, Charles settled into the wide space behind the controls and punched in the coordinates. The X-Copter hummed to life. Charles pressed another button and the hangar roof opened, splitting the basketball court above in half. The chopper rose into the air and above the mansion to hover for a moment as Charles reached forward and pressed the button again. The hanger roof seamlessly folded back down and the basketball court was whole once more; there was no surface trace of the mansion's underground rooms.

Gripping the controls in his gloved hands, Charles brought the X-Copter around in a wide circle above the mansion and then bore down, sending the chopper shooting up. Despite the full moon, there were enough clouds in the night sky to hide him from any prying eyes on the ground. He flicked on the autopilot and settled back to wait.

His flight took him to a vast expanse of woods. He took back the controls and swooped low over the foliage, his eyes narrowed and scanning the icy trees. Half-hidden in the undergrowth was a snug cottage. Creeping vines climbed its wooden face and smoke puffed out of its brick chimney stack. A fresh path had been dug through the snow from the front door to a small clearing just large enough to accommodate the X-Copter; thin sheets of metal had been lain throughout so his wheelchair wouldn't be trapped in the snow.

Charles brought the chopper down in the clearing, sending the smaller trees bending backwards from the force of the spinning blades. He lowered the ramp and killed the engine. After making sure the wrapped parcel was still in his lap, Charles rolled down the ramp and along the path towards the cottage. A warm orange glow slipped between a gap in the closed curtains, and the window boxes were draped with soft fairy lights. A large festive wreath was nailed to the front door; the door swung upon as Charles drew level with it.

The cottage was decorated in an early 1900's style. The front door opened directly into a cosy living room; closed doors led off to the bathroom and kitchen. A narrow staircase curved up to the bedroom. Throughout the cottage was wood panelled walls and thick patterned rugs in autumn tones. The centrepiece of the living room was a glowing fireplace with a carved wooden surround. A dark green cloth runner decorated with stitched holly berries stretched across the mantel; a wrapped parcel rested at one end while a brass menorah stood at the other, its candles lit. Two high backed armchairs covered in deep red fabric were set before the fireplace. A chess table stood between the chairs and there was a spindly table with an old gramophone to the side. A tall book shelf filled with heavy novels and vinyl records, as well as a mirrored cabinet housing crystal glasses and spirit bottles, took up the remaining space. Soft jazz was playing through the gramophone.

The kitchen door swung open as the front door shut behind Charles. A tall man exited the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He had light brown hair and piercing blue eyes, and his new beard had flecks of red in it. He was dressed casually in a grey knit sweater and belted jeans. A thin gold chain holding a locket disappeared below his collar.

"You're late," said Erik, nodding to the antique clock hung over the fireplace.

"You say that every year," replied Charles as he rolled over to the fireplace; he swapped his wrapped parcel for the one resting there and tucked it to the side of his wheelchair. "Yet you still won't agree to move this to a place that isn't in the middle of a snowy wood. I _am_ in a wheelchair, you know."

"I like this house," said Erik with shrug. "We manage. Are you ready?"

"One moment."

Charles backed into a clear corner so that his wheelchair was tucked out of the way. Erik lifted his hand to waist height; three small metal balls rose from his jeans pocket and soared across the room. As they flew, they stretched and flattened until they were long, thin strips. They snaked around Charles' body and effortlessly lifted him out of his wheelchair. Erik raised his hand to shoulder height and floated Charles across the room to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. Once Charles was seated, the metal strips unwound and became balls once more. Erik returned them to his pocket with a flick of his wrist.

"What?" he said, noting the scowl on Charles' face.

"You know I hate that," muttered Charles.

"The last time I lifted you out myself, you tried to clout me," Erik reminded him.

"Your hand should _not_ have been there."

"That was an _accident_ , Charles."

There was an amused glint in Erik's eye as he turned to the cabinet and set about pouring drinks. Charles pulled off his gloves, coat, and woollen hat, and popped the top button on the blue collared shirt he wore beneath a light brown pullover. Erik crossed over to him, drink in hand; he took the clothing from Charles and passed him the whisky glass.

Charles drank as Erik hung his clothing up on hooks set to the back of the door and then stoked the fire. The mellow music and soft tick of the clock filled the companionable silence in the cottage. Erik disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and returned with a silver platter of warm hors d'oeuvres, which he set down beside the gramophone. He refilled Charles' glass before finally pouring himself a drink and sinking into the second armchair.

"Your start," he said, nodding at the chessboard, "and no cheating."

"I never do," scoffed Charles as he dusted the crumbs from his fingers and moved a white pawn forward.

The fire cast a warm orange glow throughout the room while the two men played. Their conversation flowed late into the night, lulling whenever one would furrow his brow as he decided on which chess piece to move next, and peaking each time Charles spoke of the students at the mansion. A fond smile would tug at Erik's mouth as he listened to Charles' anecdotes, but the mention of Raven brought a wistful look to his eyes.

At last, the whisky ran dry and the fire burned down to smouldering embers. Charles took the final king and Erik stood, clasping his hands together and stretching up to the ceiling so his joints cracked. He rolled his shoulders and then pulled the metal balls from his pockets.

"Ready?"

Charles scowled again but let Erik get to work. Once settled, Charles pulled the wrapped parcel out from where it was jammed between the side of his wheelchair and his leg, and placed it carefully in his lap. Pretending not to notice, Erik retrieved his coat, woollen hat and gloves; every year they exchanged gifts this way and every year he feigned indifference.

"Will you be coming by the mansion any time soon?" enquired Charles, tucking his ears beneath his woollen hat.

"We'll see," replied Erik.

The two men reached out and grasped hands. The contact was brief but firm, and Erik was the first to pull away. Charles' knowing eyes raked his face. Erik had played his cards close to his chest all night and Charles had respected the privacy of his thoughts but, as always, he cared for and worried deeply about his old friend.

"Don't make yourself a stranger, Erik," he said gently. "You will always find a home and a family with us."

Erik clapped a hand on Charles' shoulder in way of reply. He twitched his other hand and the front door swung open on its heavy metal hinges; a burst of cold air whistled through the doorway. Erik stared out at the X-Copter gleaming in the silver moonlight and rolled his wrist.

"The chopper's ready. Give Moira my love," said Erik with a sly grin.

"She'll love that," replied Charles wryly.

Charles rolled out into the crisp winter night. Behind him, Erik stood framed in the doorway, a dark silhouette burning at the edges from the glow of the fireplace. It was a lonely sight and Charles' heart ached to leave him. It seemed so cruel that he was returning to the warmth and love of Moira and his mutant family but, try as he might, he had never been able to convince Erik to come back. One day, maybe, Erik would heal and find his peace. Charles could only hope.


End file.
